


That secret hidden behind your smile

by GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Number Four Privet Drive (Harry Potter), Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey/pseuds/GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey
Summary: He stopped in his tracks, inhaling sharply when he discovered Ginny gesturing to the open cupboard under the stairs. “Tell me it’s not what I think it is,” she said with anger, her eyes flashing and glaring at the cupboard.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 13
Kudos: 70





	That secret hidden behind your smile

**Author's Note:**

> A big big thank you to James and everyone else who helped me.

“Harry, dear, there’s a letter for you on the table,” Mrs. Weasley shouted, her head turned towards the pan of bacon slices she was cooking, a towel set on her shoulder. Slices of apples were being cut magically at her side, twirling in the air above the counter while a wooden spoon was stirring a concoction in a big cast iron cauldron.

“Of course there is,” Harry mumbled through clenched teeth, wiping the sleep from the corner of his eye with his thumb. He descended the creaky stairs with heavy steps, feeling the bottoms of Ron’s too-long pajama pants under his bare feet. Walking next to Pigwidgeon and Errol, the owls hooted affectionately to him in greeting, and Harry took a second to caress their plumage --and evidently missing Hedwig-- before heading to the kitchen. 

The kitchen table was packed with many members of the family already awake, the attractive aroma of freshmade dark roast coffee reaching Harry’s nose. “Good morning, Harry,” Mr. Weasley eventually said, his head hidden behind the new copy of the Daily Prophet, faces Harry didn’t recognize moving on the front-page. 

“Good morning, Mr. Weasley,” Harry responded to him, adding as much cheerfulness as he could in his voice despite his lack of sleep from the night before. Clearing his throat, he awkwardly took a seat at the Weasley table, finding himself in front of Ginny. 

The silence in the kitchen was uncanny and the ordinary effervesness of the room was unpresent, letting Harry contemplate once again the infinite void of joy and clatter accompanying his breakfasts since mid-May. Somehow though, it seemed worse now that Ron and Hermione were gone to Australia the day before. He swallowed, an unpleasant feeling of not belonging at that table taking residency in the pit of his empty stomach. 

Aiming for a slice of bread in the middle of the table, he failed to keep his eyes on his moving hand, fixating Ginny who was chewing the corner of her toast. Their relationship hadn’t restarted as easily as Harry had hoped, yet, they were able to speak to each other cordially, even if each time they exchanged words, Harry was hit with the evidence of the absence of intimacy they used to share. He was at loss as to how to remedy the situation, his gut being useless for once. 

Ron and Hermione had been graceful enough to assume it wasn’t a subject of discussion he was willing to approach easily with them, and had given him the chance to sulk in private about the situation like the good friends they were. 

Unfortunately, the morning they left, Ron had given him a clear mission while they would be away in Australia; use that time to repair his relationship with his sister. Beaming, Hermione had nodded, and they had left a mumbling Harry in peace to frown at the wall of the bedroom. He knew he had to, but he was terrified of fucking it up. 

“What is it?” Mrs. Weasley asked behind his shoulder, wiping her hands on a towel. 

Jumping, he retrieved his hand from the bucket of bread, a slice between his fingers. 

“Oh sorry, dear!” Molly said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he could hear Charlie snicker, a hand partially muffling the sound escaping his lips. 

Harry shook his head to reassure Mrs. Weasley that she had done nothing wrong. “Oh, I don’t know yet. I haven’t opened it. I-I guess I should,” he answered, putting the bread on the plate in front of him and glancing at Ginny who was sipping her pumpkin juice. Harry wiped the crumbs from his hands on his pajama bottom and then took the rolled parchment in his hands. 

Mr. Weasley put his newspaper on the wooden table, a frown between his eyebrows, ready to hear what Harry had to say. Harry licked his lips, trying to forget the stares directed at him from the Weasleys. George’s eyes were vacant, his hand moving in slow-motion the spoon in his bowl of cereal. 

Harry’s eyes went back and forth, reading each line written in a purple ink. He probably failed to hide the unmistaken mix of tiredness and anxiety from his face because Percy immediately asked him what was wrong, having recognized the Ministry emblem sealing the roll. 

Again, like a magnet, Ginny’s stare attracted his eyes before responding, and she gave him a worried expression. 

“That’s--,” he began and sighed. “The Dursleys are expected at their home later today, having received the okay from Shacklebolt, and well, it’s just a letter to let me know my presence would be appreciated.”

Mr. Weasley’s frown deepened and Harry felt Mrs. Weasley’s hand squeezing his shoulder. “What are they expecting from you, again!? You don’t have to go there, Harry, I’ll take care of it,” Molly exclaimed, taking the parchment from his hands in exasperation. 

“Molly is right, Harry, it’s not your responsibility to welcome them to their house.” Arthur added. “I’m sure someone from the Ministry has the job to greet them properly,” he continued before taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Yeah, that’s a pile of rubbish if you want my advice,” George said, getting up from his chair and making his way to the sink. 

“I agree,” Percy voiced, and Ginny turned her head towards his brother in surprise. “There’s plenty of people who have the responsibility to bring the muggles who were somehow linked with our war to their home safely. It’s--”

“I know, I know,” Harry finally said. He pressed his lips together before continuing, making sure to choose the right words to explain his train of thoughts. “It’s not like I’m excited to go, nor that it was my plan for the day. I just--.” He sighed, and felt that everyone was drinking in his words, making him rethink the necessity of sharing his thoughts. George arrived at the corner of the table with a glass of water, his gulps the only sound in the kitchen. He glanced at Ginny, her presence acting like the dose of courage he needed to formulate his next words. “What if I’d be a reassurance to them by being there? As a wizard myself?”

A noise attracted his attention. “You don’t really believe that, do you?” George said with a grimace, putting his empty glass on the table and making his way to the armchair. 

Looking at Mr. Weasley’s eyes filled with pity, Harry’s throat closed up, realising how stupid what he just said sounded. 

“You know what? I think Harry is right.”

His eyes lifted up to Ginny who had her elbows on the table. “Ginny, that’s fine, I don’t know what I was thinking. George’s right,” Harry said, faking a laugh. She was looking deep at him, her eyelids unblinking. 

She tilted her head and then continued. “Well, I think you had a point. The Dursleys hate all that we are and had to hide because of us. I’m worried that the witches and wizards who have the poor job of bringing them home will experience all kinds of reactions from them. It’s not your responsibility, of course it’s not, but it doesn’t mean that your presence wouldn’t calm them, knowing who you are. You’re not wrong.”

“I’m not sure I would calm them, I normally made my uncle lose his calm, but, er- yeah, I don’t know,” Harry said, shrugging, while Molly let out a grunt.

“I see, Harry,” Arthur said, glancing at his wife. “You’re worried they’d explode and lash out at some strangers who did nothing.” Ginny nodded to her father like it was no news to her. 

“Right,” Harry managed to say, shifting on his chair. His eyes landed on his abandoned slice of bread, and he busied himself with it, destroying the dry corner into crumbs. His heart twisted, embarrassed at how the Dursleys could act, how hostile they were to his world. 

Mrs. Weasley grunted again. “Arthur will go with you then. You’re not going there alone. I won’t let you face--”

“Actually Molly, I have a meeting with Kingsley in an hour,” Arthur said, wiping his lips with a napkin. He got up, the chair scratching the floor. “I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t go with you. I’m not comfortable that you’re going alone either though.” 

Harry frowned and tried with all his might to hide the disbelief from his face and the mild anger flaring in his stomach. Wanting to make clear he wasn’t a kid and he spent years with the Dursleys alone without anyone caring, he opened his mouth to reply, but Mr. Weasley lifted his hand to stop him. “I know you’re an adult. I know, but--”

“I’ll go,” Ginny said, snapping Harry’s attention towards her.

His eyes widened and his heart started thumping in his chest at the idea of Ginny being alone with him, and most importantly, meeting the Dursleys. That was something he’d never really contemplated before at Hogwarts, his younger self always pushing deep down any memories concerning his past. 

That past including that other Harry Potter, the one he’d hidden away and which only three people knew about. The one who, feeling unloved and unworthy, had been alone in the world for a decade. A Harry Potter unknown from his friends who had cried in the night for a miracle and who had spent hours looking at the wooden ceiling of his cupboard, chasing dreams and mourning others.

That teenager who spent his summer days staring at the white walls of his bedroom, hoping the days would pass quicker and longing for another world, the one he was part of. 

“If you’re comfortable with me being there with you, of course.” 

Molly smiled at her daughter and Percy got up, realising his business was done here. 

Harry observed Ginny behind his glasses for a moment, her eyes never leaving his. His head screamed to him to say no, to not let her see them, to protect her from their judgement.

“Please.” 

* * *

The Dursleys were arriving just before lunch, so it was in a hurry that Ginny went up the stairs to get dressed. Harry stayed in the bathroom far too long for simply brushing his teeth, but used the peace of the room to gather his thoughts about what was going to happen when he’d be in the Dursleys’ presence after so long. After dying. After seeing the pain and hearing the agony of losing loved-ones. After thinking he’d never see them again and their eyes filled with rejection and hatred, with disgust and anger. 

Because of him. Because of existing. Because he once was their responsibility, one they never asked for. And they made him know, depriving him of love and compassion, of gentle touches and soft affection. 

Of a family. Of a childhood. 

Yet, here Harry was, making them his. It was crazy, something he shouldn’t inflict on himself, but he cared. Not about them per se, but about being sure they were safe and peaceful and that his existence hadn’t ruined theirs completely, that they’d have a semblance of normalcy now that he’d be out of their lives for good. But also, as crazy as it sounded, he wanted to be there to control their arrival, making sure they wouldn’t dare bother someone who never did anything wrong. 

Harry wasn’t sure whether he wanted Ginny to see how awful the people to whom he was related could be, where he grew up and how they hated all she was, all she represented. Chuckling to himself, he realised how his life was different from other guys of his age who habitually wanted to show to the person they loved where they spent the first years of their lives. 

He wondered if he could withdraw his request and if she’d accept staying here. Molly and Arthur wouldn’t let him go alone though. 

Harry sighed, passing a hand through his hair. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about the possibility of Ginny meeting them one day when they were dating, but all he could think of when he considered that moment was shame. 

Shame of sharing blood with them. 

Ginny's muffled voice by the door broke the silence. “Harry? Are you done?” 

“Yeah, just a minute.” He looked at his weary face in the mirror one last time before opening the bathroom door. Ginny was sitting on the first step at the top of the old stairs, waiting for him and playing with the fabric of the small victorian carpet near her. 

Breathing through his nose, he advanced towards her, struggling to focus his attention on anything other than her rosy lips beaming at him or her bright eyes illuminating each of his steps. Stopping at her side, he put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, afraid to lose the battle against his twitching fingers, itching to brush a lock of her long mane of red hair. 

“ Erm, ready?” he settled on asking her, watching her standing up. 

“When you are.”

* * *

He’d apparated with her discreetly to the side of the house on Private Drive, her arms embracing his waist, causing her warm body to be pressed against his. 

Pursing his lips when she quickly removed herself from his arms, he adjusted his glasses on his nose, looking around to make sure nobody saw them arriving. 

Ginny crossed her arms and then rubbed her forearms, turning her head to admire where she had just landed. The sky was deprived of any clouds and the sun was just present enough to warm their skin from the chilly air of May. 

“Shall we?” he said, motioning to the front of the house. They were a bit earlier than when the Durlseys were expected, and Harry rapidly noticed that they were alone. He turned into the driveway, his eyes falling on the long grass. It felt unbelievable to see that; Petunia and Vernon were obsessed with the appearance of their home, always making sure the grass was freshly cut by Harry himself and the flowers were beautifully arranged. 

Ginny followed him. “Wow, don’t you find it weird how the houses all look the same around here?” she whispered at his side. “It’s creepy.” 

Looking at her from the corner of his eye, Harry couldn’t stop himself from snorting considering all the strange things a witch like Ginny had seen in her life, or how what muggles would find macabre were mundane in the Wizarding World. 

Harry hearing a neighbor slamming his car trunk close. “Come, I’ll make you visit the inside of one of those creepy houses,” he said, giving her a boyish smile. 

“I’ll have nightmares, Harry,” Ginny declared, mastering with perfection the imitation of a fearful voice and squeezing his arm. He couldn’t help but laugh at her antics.

To all appearances, Number 4 Privet Drive had the semblance of a perfectly normal muggle house, one where no dark magic would have been cast, disturbing the quietude of Harry’s old neighborhood.

Reaching the front door, Harry looked around, making sure nobody was minding them. “ _Alohomora_ ,” he murmured, waving his wand at the door handle. Ginny’s hair brushed against his arm, the tantalizing sensation creating goosebumps on his skin. It was unbearable not being allowed to engulf her in his arms and put his nose in her neck, to not have the right to let her sweet scent wash over him and sooth his worries like the most successful calming drop. 

_That had been his request after all, so he had nobody apart from himself to damn._

The door unlocked with a click and Harry pushed it open, the movement familiar, yet, strange. The house was exactly like he’d left it: without any trace of dark magic or destruction and as clean as if Petunia had spent the day scrubbing the walls herself. He wondered just how it’d been destroyed --or if it had been at all-- before the Ministry cleaned it up the possible damages. 

“You okay?” Ginny said, appearing at his side, her small hand catching the sleeve of his T-shirt. With a jolt, he nodded, blinking hard a few times, unsure of why he was feeling so tired all of a sudden. 

“We don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, Harry,” she murmured to him like the walls could hear her, an absolute kindness filling her voice. “Let’s--”

Harry shook his head. “No, no. That’s fine. I’m fine. Come on, I’ll show you something,” he replied to her, removing his shoes carefully and walking to the living room. Therefore, he totally missed Ginny’s worried eyes following him across the house. She sighed, removing her shoes too, and walked on his steps, taking in the old and kitsch choices of decoration around the house. 

“Look,” Harry said to Ginny, inviting her to crouch at his side on Petunia’s lilac carpet. “You remember when I talked to you about the TV the Dursleys had and--” he began, before stopping himself and clearing his throat, a vision of Ginny’s fascinating eyes boring into his, before leaning in for a kiss, and laying her head on his chest again to watch the fire crackling in the common room. He remembered how, cuddled against him in the common room, his hand tangled in her hair, she’d been bewitched by the concept.

“Well, that’s a TV,” he continued, gesturing towards the big black square in front of him. His tongue poking between his teeth, he fumbled a little with the buttons when it finally turned on, loud voices booming from the speakers. 

“Ah!” Ginny screamed, putting her hand on her chest. 

Harry tilted his head, a smirk dancing deviously on his lips. “I’m sorry, did you just scream in fear Ginny Weasley?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him and he couldn’t help but grin at her inability to admit she’d been scared. “No, you need to have your ears checked.” 

Despite her annoyance with him, she practically ran to his side, falling on her knees to look at the TV they had spent nights talking about when they were dating. At the time, he’d promised her he’d show her one, delighted by the surprising fact he’d been able to keep his promise despite the odds being against him. 

Now, watching how gorgeous she was when looking at it, he couldn’t help but smile at her childish and contagious enthusiasm. The kind of smile hiding how your heart was broken and how each icy breath pierced your lungs in agony. 

“That’s amazing, Harry,” Ginny exclaimed, her eyes too close to the glass and unaware of Harry’s internal turmoil. “Look, we can really see their lips moving at the same time we hear their voices. How can they do that?” she asked, turning her head to him. “You said everyone was able to see the same thing on their TV at the same time, right? How is it possible without any magic?”

Harry shrugged, admiring her devotion and eagerness to learn about something he had never really cared about. He imagined it was the same as when he was asking Ron a question about the Wizarding World. “To be fair, I’m not the best person to explain this to you. Something about electricity and waves. I’m pretty sure I could find you a book if you want, though.” 

After Harry had to pull Ginny from the TV with a laugh, they continued to move around the house, Ginny pushing for him to show her his childhood bedroom. He did, thought a bit reluctantly, knowing how his old room was boring with its cold white walls, its small uncomfortable bed and its empty-of-life atmosphere. His hands started sweating when her eyes fell on the little flap on his bedroom door, and she turned to him with a frown. 

However, to his complete relief, she didn’t say a word or ask a million questions: she let it be. He knew though that she knew it was weird, that it wasn’t typical for a kid to have a flap in their door. With a last look at where Hedwig used to sleep in her cage, he told her he’d show her the kitchen before his uncle and aunt arrived. She changed the mood by telling him how lucky she was to be the first girl putting a foot in this room, winking at him and making him miss a step on the stairs. 

She spent a couple of minutes in the kitchen, asking him all the questions that were passing through her head, and Harry answered each of them, his heart warm and fuzzy. 

It was time to go outside to greet his relatives they’d realized in an absurd and hilarious panic. They hurried to the entry, making fun of the tapisserie’s color on their way. Harry was turning the door handle when he heard Ginny’s small voice.

“Harry, what is it?”

He shifted his body, ready to tell her what purpose the object she was probably pointing had and curious to know what generated such a reaction from her. Yet, he stopped in his tracks, inhaling sharply when he discovered Ginny gesturing to the open cupboard under the stairs. 

“Tell me it’s not what I think it is,” she said with anger, her eyes flashing and glaring at the cupboard.

Harry closed his eyes, paralyzed under her imploring stare, unable to form any words, any lies. His mind was blank, until a million thoughts undertook the power, spiraling in every direction. Memories, fears, flashes, fantasies even.

“ _Harry,_ ” she repeated with insistence.

Eventually, he felt the pressure of her hands on his chest, caressing their way to his face. For an instant, he wondered if it was his brain playing tricks on him, letting him believe her calming touches were real, and only for him. Grazing the side of his jaw, her hand slided to his cheek and moved to cup the back of his neck. 

“You don’t have to tell me, I’m sorry,” he heard her murmur, a tremor in her beautiful voice, her breath warming his chin. He titled his head in her palm, marvelling at the contact. Without hesitation, she started massaging the tensions that had built there in the past months, like she used to do at Hogwarts. Like when they were one: Harry and Ginny. 

“That’s-” he started, his tongue dry and heavy, feeling at a loss for words.

There wasn’t much to say in his opinion. It was as clear as a glass, wasn’t it? The miniscule bed framed by wooden shelves storing his old enormous clothes and dusty broken toys. A thin floral blanket used like a fort on the cold nights he wished for the protective arms of a mum. A pillow skewed in the middle of the bed, like nobody had been there since he left it like that the last morning he slept on it, when they had conceded --not without groans and insults flying towards his person-- that he was human enough to sleep somewhere respectable, that he didn’t have to be deprived of some decent conditions anymore.

He licked his lips and lifted up his eyes to the ceiling, unable to watch the pity he’d find in her eyes, to read on her face the discomfort she’d experience, the judgement she’d try to hide. He felt humiliated. 

The Dursleys, they had succeeded, hadn’t they? It was their ultimate victory: he was ashamed of who he was. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to. Talk about it I mean. It’s more that I try to forget it,” he explained, a humorless chuckle rumbling in his torso.

She searched for his gaze, hers shining with tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. Harry exhaled a deep breath, his fingertips brushing the skin under her eyes, wiping away the sadness and the incomprehension. 

Her arms were around his waist, and she pulled him to her in a strong embrace. “When you are ready, I’m here,” Ginny said on his collarbone, sending a shock down his spine. 

Swallowing with difficulty, he nodded at her, trust written on his face. He trusted _her_. He trusted her with that knowledge of a part of his life that he never wanted to see out in broad daylight. 

“When I’m ready.” 

His lips parted, and he felt Ginny’s hands moving down his back, trailing over his spine, her eyes never leaving his. Heat radiated from his skin, and he bit back a moan when he felt her hands going under his shirt, her nails scratching lightly his sides like she used to do a year ago every time she felt him tense. 

Ginny pressed against him more firmly and the monster in his chest awakening, screaming at him to take his chance, to act. They still had so much to say to each other, to share about what they lived in the last few months, but there was no way Ginny wasn’t feeling it, that magic igniting from their bodies. Intense and passionate. Still _burning._

Harry put his palm on her cheek, his fingertips caressing the side of her ear and his eyes roaming her face for any indication it wasn’t right, that he was reading everything wrong. He lowered his head to hers, stopping a breath away from her lips. Her tongue moistened them, and his heart beat furiously against his rib cage when he closed his eyes to--

Tires screeching on the corner of Private Drive resonated in the silence of the house, stopping Harry in his movement when he felt Ginny start in his arms. The red car in which the Dursleys were seated parked in the driveway, and Harry let his forehead fall on Ginny’s, a mild grunt escaping his mouth. She smirked at him, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“I don’t want to,” he grumbled, and Ginny let out a laugh. To his joy, she kissed his cheek, and before he could turn his head to catch her lips, she pulled back, squeezing his hand, indicating to follow her. 

She let him exit the house first, and the second his eyes settled on his relatives, Harry felt his stomach flip, his breath now shaky. Vernon was the first to get out of the magical car. Ginny came to his side, bringing her hand at the bottom of his back, her palm on him like an anchor. 

“ _You!”_ Vernon Dursleys cried when his eyes fell on Harry. “Boy! What are you doing here now? Still here to make our lives a misery? Haven’t you done enough? I’m not going to let you put my family in danger again!” Petunia exited the car at that moment, her lips in a thin line and her arms crossed. 

“Pardon me?” Ginny said at Harry’s side, taking out her wand in her fist. He caught her hand, pulling her to his chest. “It’s not worth it,” he whispered in her ear. 

The Ministry employee cleared his throat, his long cloak grazing the ground. “Mr. Dursley, welcome to your house. The Ministry of Magic would like to-”

Petunia groaned, brushing an imaginary speck of dust on her long pink skirt in the hope of not catching their gaze. “Don’t say that _word_ here.”

Dudley closed the door of the car with a thud and put down his large suitcase at his feet. He flashed an uncomfortable smile at Harry, one looking more like a grimace, and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His hair was a bit longer and his face thinner than last year, Harry noticed. His cousin shifted a bit, looking in alarm between his parents and Harry and Ginny. 

Turning to the Ministry employee, Vernon narrowed his eyes. “Leave us alone now!,” he barked, and, realising with horror what he just did and how his perfect image would be ruined by his shout, he lowered his voice. “Get off my property! I don’t want more weirdos like you around my house!” 

Ginny huffed, offended at Vernon’s allusions about her world, about something he didn’t know about. In a flash, she had marched towards Vernon before Harry could move a muscle, her chest heaving from the indignation running in her veins. Harry hurried after her, but she was already in his uncle’s face, ready to shake some sense into him. 

“Tell me, what’s the weirdest: a monster or a wizard?” Ginny asked through clenched teeth, her eyes roaming Vernon from head to toes with pure disdain, her revulsion for the Dursleys finally breaking through and apparent for everyone to see. 

Vernon’s eyes flashed in anger. Harry heard Petunia gasping, her trembling hand going to her mouth when she realised what Ginny had just insinuated. “Who are you-” his aunt began, disgust filling her voice, but Vernon interrupted her.

“What did you just say? I won’t let someone like _you_ -” he spat, making a step towards Ginny, his face red and the long vein in his neck throbbing in anger. 

“Don’t,” Harry growled dangerously to his uncle, putting himself in front of Ginny in a protective manner, his shoulders squared, hiding her from his uncle’s madness. 

His wand was out in a wink, and Harry was just waiting for Vernon to make the wrong move to hex him, daring him to just _try_. 

Not Ginny. Never Ginny. 

There was no more terrified little Harry wondering what he did wrong to deserve a pan on his head, no more misunderstanding toddler who just wanted to be cuddled like Dudley at bedtime, no more trembling little boy waiting to be punished for existing. All Vernon could see was a man who had braved death to save the people he loved the most, and who wouldn’t restrain himself from brandishing his wand if it meant assuring Ginny would be safe. 

Vernon’s little pleated eyes went back and forth between Harry’s wand and his face “You won’t do anything like every time, it’s just your usual threats, your people are liars and weaks, I’ll show you _boy_ -”

“Watch me,” Harry snapped, his eyes unblinking. 

A high-pitch shriek erupted from behind Vernon when red sparks burst from Harry’s wand, and he saw from the corner of his eyes his aunt pulling Dudley’s head to her chest. Ginny’s wand was pointed at Vernon’s nose, prepared to hex if Harry needed.

Someone clapped their hands together once to attract their attention. “Okay, okay. I think we’ll let you settle down now Mrs and Mr. Dursley,” the poor Ministry man tried with uneasiness. He moved his arms in calming directives between both men, obviously sensing it could degenerate in a blink and pleading them to relax, afraid the muggles would have to be obliviated. 

Vernon’s huge jaw trembled in rage and, straightening his large shoulders, he snatched his suitcase from the ground, turning his back to everyone and heading to the front door of his home. Petunia followed her husband’s lead, her chin up in the air, ignoring them on her way.

The Ministry guy sighed in relief. 

“Erm, hey Harry,” Dudley mumbled to him, self-conscious, waving his hand awkwardly in his direction. 

Despite the fact he was relieved to see Dudley alive and that their last words before going in hiding had been fairly more enjoyable than everything Dudley had ever told him in the past years, he couldn’t help himself. Not one bit. 

“Hi Duds. No more Scarface? Interesting.”

_1,2..._

“ _Scarface_?!” Ginny shouted, her long hair flying behind her when she turned to look at Dudley with a murderous look. 

“Oh no, Miss Weasley,” the Ministry man exclaimed in fear.

Harry grinned when he saw his cousin squirm.

“ _Run_ ,” he mouthed.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
